The Directory
by icybassclar
Summary: This story follows Desmond Linus on a journey to fight the tyrannical system of government held in place by Peter Wiggin. 2 Chapters so far: The first part of the exposition is posted. Post niceties or suggestions only. Trolls are evil. Enjoy! -ibc
1. Desmond Michael Linus Linus

Desmond Linus was born on January 2nd, 2237. His eyes were blue, his hair was brown, he was tall, smart, happy-go-lucky, and an overall pleasant child to be around. He hated his life.

His full name was Desmond Michael Linus Linus, and he hated it intensely. His parents must really have had fun naming him- they picked some very obscure names: "Desmond" from some philosopher a few centuries ago; "Michael" from a physicist doing electromagnetic work at about the same time; and most irritating of all, "Linus": something from a comic strip from the peak of their miserable human civilization. They had the cheek to have the last name "Linus" too.

He hated his parents, who died on him when he needed them most. He hated his clothes because he couldn't afford new ones. He hated school because it moved too slow. He even hated the paint on the walls of his room in the foster house; orange made him nauseous.

Perhaps what he hated most of all was the government- what it was, who ran it, and why he wasn't a part of it. Locke was a collector of bad ideas, especially if they concerned children. Kids attended compulsory education from three months of age. The monitor stayed on until five years old. He outlawed disproportionate meals- every meal must be eaten with every other person, at 6 AM, 12 PM, and 7 PM. If you were late by more than 2 minutes you were executed. Desmond remembered the day the meal law was signed. "All children are required to eat all three meals of the day in perfect synchronization. The punishment for failing to comply is death." He happily signed it and called population control."

Amidst all the hate, though, Desmond Michael Linus Linus cradled one small victory in his hand like a fragile piece of blown glass:

He was not in the Directory.

And that was the way it was going to stay.


	2. Bounty

_I hate being treated like a four-year old. Serves me right, I guess, I __**am**__ four years old. Oh well. I managed to slip by the meal at seven and I've spent a record breaking three seconds in my foster house. Why they decided to paint that dump orange will always be a mystery. At least I punched a new hole in the wall. Nice touch .Life loves me… *sigh* I guess it's time to go._

There were in fact so many holes in Desmond's walls that he could scarcely see the paint job at all. It still made him feel sick. As he thought about leaving he had already done so, with a bag packed and everything. His foster mother, Judith, was already cursing him in every way possible, which he liked. Something about being 'a spawn of Satan' and 'trouble for goddamned society' was always nice to hear, even from her. It was one of the only real voices he heard nowadays.

Desmond went to the same place he always went on trips like these: he took a left, hung a right, carried on straight for 2.3 clicks, took another left, and opened the sewer cover at the edge of the road he had come to love. No matter how many times he went down through the hole, he felt a certain bittersweet sorrow about leaving the city. It was grand- 20 clicks in diameter, with an underground six times that size. No matter how much he hated the world he lived in, he could always appreciate the vast scope of the achievement that man had, well, achieved. This city was a masterpiece.

Desmond climbed down the monotonous ladder that took him into the underground. It took at least 53 seconds, which was his fastest time down it by climbing the individual rungs. Sliding down took shorter, but that was cheating. He also tried going by increments of two or three, but that took longer and the three increment step didn't land him exactly on the ground. That wouldn't do at all. Desmond went down the ladder at his usual pace, counting powers of three to pass the time. He lost track at 1570042899082081611640534563. He reached the bottom and saw his destination. _My favorite part of the day, _he thought to himself.

Desmond sat at the terminal. It was a big and comfy chair, so it was always fun. He logged on the nets on his six ID's to check the status of his bounties with his sources. In Albuquerque, New Mexico he was worth 3.5 mil. "Ha," he accidentally chuckled. In Prolifica, Nevada he was worth 7.6 mil, which was better but still not good enough because they wanted him alive. His third source in Northridge, Montana was unreliable most of the time but pulled through today: a fresh bounty of 7.4 mil, dead. Desmond breathed a sigh of contentment and informed his sources of his ID's thoughts on the mater. He always made his ID's tease them with false information o they never caught him. It made things funner. One of the more rare price tags on his head read, "Desmond Michael Linus Linus: Wanted for reinsertion into the Directory and for crimes of immeasurable evil. Reward for capture: 20.3 mil, alive, any condition."

This tag was by far his least favorite. Sure he could handle the accusations and the price on his head- those were justified. However, being reinserted into the Directory was like being murdered; you lost your sense of identity. The Directory, as far as Desmond knew (which was a lot), was an electro-mechanical database where every person is linked on every extent of their lives. Everyone shares the same thoughts- Locke's thoughts. Everyone shares the same activities, neatly organized on an alternating schedule so that people aren't overcrowded (except for mealtimes). Your name is lost- you become a number among a string of numbers that spans the entire population of children in the world. You have no self until age 19. Desmond was one of 169 kids he knew who had broken free of the Directory's grasp. He still remembered the exact age he left: three years, six months, and 17 days.

The bounties that he was placed under didn't matter- he liked a good chase anyways. He had been free for another year, two months, and nine days, and it was the best thing he had ever felt.


End file.
